


Shaving

by youwerefantasticrose



Category: Doctor Who, Roski - Fandom, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:03:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youwerefantasticrose/pseuds/youwerefantasticrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaving is more difficult without magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaving

She raps on the bathroom door impatiently, checking her watch.

“Loki, come on! I need to get ready for work!”

It’s quiet, and then she hears him curse from inside.

“Alrigh’, I’m comin’ in.”

“No, Rose, don’t—”

The door opening cuts him off. He’s standing in front of the mirror, half of his face covered in shaving cream. He’s holding a razor in one hand, and the other is pressed to his face.

She can’t help herself; she laughs.

“It’s not funny, Rose!” he glares at her. “I’m bleeding!”

“You’re hundreds of years old, you think you would have learned how to shave by now!” She’s doubled over in laughter now, holding her stomach.

“I know how to shave, Rose,” he says witheringly. “I’m not a child. I’m just not used to these primitive tools. At ho—, I mean, in Asgard, I could simply use magic.” 

She’s wiping tears from her eyes now. 

“Shut up,” he says, looking back into the mirror and starting again. After two strokes, he nicks himself again, cursing.

“Don’t say a word,” he says, looking at her in the mirror.

“Move over,” she says, and he does. She hops up onto the counter, facing him.

“Come on then,” she says, grabbing his shirt and pulling him in front of her. “Give me the razor.”

He starts to protest, but she cuts him off with a look. He hands it over, but he doesn’t move.

“Loki, come on. I have to go to work. Come ‘ere.”

He steps forward slowly, and she sighs, annoyed, grabbing him again and pulling him, so he’s right in front of her, body between her legs.

He swallows hard.

“Stop fidgetin’,” she says, reaching up and putting her hand on the space between his shoulder and his neck. She brings the razor up, pulling it down his cheek smoothly. She does it again, without cutting him.

“You’re good at that,” he says quietly.

“Don’t talk,” she says, focused on her task. It gives him a chance to look at her up close, to notice the different colors in her eyes, the way the light hits her blonde hair, the slight pink of her skin.

“All done,” she says, and it’s too soon; he’s disappointed.

She tosses the razor in the sink next to them and grabs the washcloth lying there, reaching up and wiping the remains of the shaving cream off of his face gently.

He’s very aware of her body, warm and close to his, and the fact that this part is something he could have done himself, but she’s doing it for him anyway.

Once she’s done, she tosses the washcloth to the side. She leans up, grabbing his chin and moving his head, admiring her handiwork.

“There ya go,” she says, with a tongue-touched grin. “What do you think?”

He leans forward, pressing into her, with the pretense of looking closer in the mirror. He feels her sharp intake of breath, and he fights back a smile. 

“Better,” he says, pulling back slightly so they’re face to face. “Thank you, Rose.”

“N-no problem,” she stutters, eyes on his. Neither of them is moving to leave; instead, they stay where they are, very close, eyes locked.

She breaks the eye contact, eyes going to his cheek. She reaches up, her fingers grazing the soft skin between his ear and his jaw. His breath catches.

“I missed a spot,” she says softly, and he steps even closer, so their bodies are pressed together, his face so close that she can feel his cool breath on her cheek.

His hand moves from the counter, and he brings it up to hers, holding it against his cheek.

He takes a shaky breath, and leans in slowly, pressing his lips to hers gently. She kisses him back, and his hands go to her face, cradling it. After a moment, they separate, and she smiles up at him.

That’s all he needs, and he’s kissing her again, harder this time, more passionate. She responds eagerly, her hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer. His arms go around her, and her mouth opens against his, her hands moving up into his hair.

He pulls away, his lips dropping to her neck, and she sighs, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“‘M gonna be so late.”


End file.
